A Love Beyond All Fear
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: The Prince of Ithilien and his White Lady are prepared for the birth of their second child, but nothing could ready them for what the fates held in store.
1. The first day

Disclaimer: The characters were not thought up by me, but by the great author whom we can only emulate, Tolkien.   
  
Author's Notes: This is my first LotR fic, although I have written quite a lot in other categories. I'm excited and eager to tell this story, as it has to do with my very favorite couple. Here's hoping that they have more screentime in the extended version! Thanks for reading!!!  
  
Dedication: To Chris, Missa's husband, the biggest LotR geek I've ever had the pleasure of pissing off with my innane pro-feminine, pro-movie rants--haha;)  
  
****  
  
A Love Beyond All Fear  
  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
The histories of both Gondor and Rohan would long remember the day of the birth of Elboron, the Steward's first child with his White Lady. But it was another day that while perhaps not as celebrated, would weigh heavily in the memories of not only the parties involved, but of the lowliest of peasants in the realms of Middle Earth.   
  
Just over four years after Elboron's birth, the Lady Éowyn and her beloved husband, Faramir, son of Denethor, prepared to bring another child into the world. The wait had been long and particularly weary on the usually strong former Shieldmaiden. This troubled Faramir greatly; her confinement with Elboron had progressed smoothly, with only a few instances of sickness or fatigue. But with this second child, Éowyn's health had deteriorated to the point where, had the Healers not done so themselves, he would have ordered her into permanent bed rest.   
  
On the morning it all began, Faramir awoke to the unpleasant, but all too common sound of his wife's nausea. Instantly, he was out of bed and at her side, holding her long, pale blond hair away from her face until the bout of sickness had passed.   
  
"Éowyn, love," he murmured. "I am so sorry."   
  
With one hand on her extremely pronounced belly and the other covering her mouth, his wife shook her head. "Do not be. It is the way with children." She attempted a smile although her stomach still felt unsteady. "Women's burden to bear."   
  
Faramir frowned as he stroked her soft locks away from her forehead. "It was not so with Elboron."   
  
"Every babe differs." When she was sure that she could, Éowyn reached for his hand. "Help me stand." He did so, keeping a firm, but gentle hold on her as they both rose to their feet. The bulge of her stomach prevented them from being as close as they would have liked. Éowyn sighed and rested her hands on her child. "I do hope it will not be too much longer. I miss the sight of my feet."   
  
"Come back to bed and I shall describe them to you," Faramir replied, a twinkle replacing the concern in his bottomless eyes.   
  
"Oh, will you, my lord? Very well then." After he had led her back to their bed and she was again settled into the fleece pillows and warm fur coverlets, she looked at him, expectedly.   
  
Her husband sat at the end of the bed and reached under the furs until he touched her slender ankle. "They are pale as moonbeams and so delicate that one might think that to touch them is to break them. Yet there is great strength there. Feet that can run like the wind, climb the highest mountains, and yet dance with joy and grace. The ground that they tread upon considers itself lucky to…"   
  
Éowyn cut him off with a peal of laughter. "Ever the poet, my love. My heart never stood a chance against the flower of your words." She sighed softly. "How I love thee."   
  
"How do you love, lady?" he asked, moving up the bed until he lay next to her.   
  
"Wholly." Her cool hand ran down the stubbled length of his cheek. "Eternally."   
  
Faramir took her hand and pressed his lips to the center of her palm. "As do I," he whispered, leaning in to capture her lips in a kiss.   
  
His mouth had barely brushed across hers when the heavy brocaded curtains that closed their chambers off for privacy's sake, parted. A boy of four years and several weeks entered, trailing a blanket. One chubby thumb stopped up his sweet mouth. He waited until his father noticed him.   
  
"Elboron." Faramir drew away from his wife to address his son. "A man does not enter another man's chamber without announcing himself."   
  
Éowyn chuckled as she struggled to sit up more. "There is time yet for him to learn what it is to be a man, my lord. For now, let him be a child."   
  
Faramir's stern expression melted under his wife's motherly words and his son's look of childish abashment. With a smile, he opened his arms. Elboron wasted no time in crossing the room and crawling into his parent's bed and then his father's embrace. He removed his thumb long enough to greet them with a respectful, "Mot'er….Fat'er."   
  
"What brings our little prince to us so early in the morning?" Éowyn asked as she watched Faramir rock their child. A lump rose in her throat which she had trouble swallowing back.   
  
"Bad dweam," Elboron replied, snuggling deeper into his father's arms. "I tried not to be a'scared, Fat'er." He looked up at Faramir. "But I was a'scared."   
  
"There is no man who is not scared of something," Faramir assured the boy.   
  
Éowyn smirked. "And what is it that scares you?" she asked, mischievously.   
  
A shadow passed over her husband's handsome face for a brief moment, before he blinked it away. "Oliphaunts," he finally answered. "I should not like to encounter one of them too closely."   
  
His wife waved her hand, dismissing the idea. "Trust me, my love, they are not as frightening as they appear."   
  
"Mot'er seen one?" Elboron inquired.   
  
"Yes." Éowyn rubbed her hand over her stomach. "Mother's seen one."   
  
Faramir cleared his throat. Reminders of the past ever tugged at them both, but it would be years before his son would be able to hear and understand the stories of the War. "Perhaps we should find something for breakfast and bring it back to your mother," he suggested. Elboron nodded enthusiastically.   
  
As the two most important men in her life started for the doorway, her husband's calloused hand holding her son's tiny one, Éowyn brushed back a tear. There were moments when her life seemed too perfect. Moments when she feared that something tragic must be in store to bring balance. Wasn't that how it always was?   
  
A painful pressure gripped her lower abdomen a few moments later, reminding her that yes, it was.   
  
****   
  
Faramir was preparing a plate of mild cheese, soft bread and sweet fruit for his wife, the only foods her stomach was able to tolerate in the mornings, when a servant entered with news of an unexpected, but not unwelcome arrival to Emyn Arnen.   
  
"My lord. Éomer-king has reached the gates and requests entrance into your hall."   
  
"Éomer-king is ever welcome here," Faramir replied. "Take this food to the Lady of the House, and tell her that her brother has arrived. She may try to rise in order that she might greet him, but you must insist that she stay in bed. I shall bring him to her." When the servant had bowed and left with the tray, he dropped the formality and looked at his son. Elboron sat in a chair that was far too big for him, drinking a cup of milk. He held the cup in both hands and when he set it down, creamy foam circled his upper lip. Faramir couldn't stop his smile. "Wipe your mouth, my little hobbit, and let us greet your uncle."   
  
Although the boy was only clad in a child's night shift, and he wore naught but cotton breeches and a tunic top, Faramir stood with his son at the entrance to Emyn Arnen like the royalty that they were, ready to welcome the King of Rohan. His wife's brother arrived with only two guards; he was not a man accustomed to being protected. As soon as he stopped his mighty horse, Éomer swung himself to the ground.   
  
"Greetings, Faramir, Prince of Ithilien." He looked at the child next to the man. "And Elboron, son of Faramir." The corners of his mouth lifted for his nephew was quite dear to him.   
  
Faramir lowered his head. "Éomer-king, you honor my house."   
  
With one great hand, the Rohirric king waved away the formality. It was a motion nearly identical in likeness to Éowyn's dismissal of things that did not please her. "Enough of these titles. I come uninvited and for that I am sorry. But I have not received word of my sister since I learned of her delicate condition, and I have been worried for her well-being, and that of the babe."   
  
"She will reprimand you for this," Faramir warned him. "Your sister does not take kindly to people fussing over her. She would rather do the fussing."   
  
"It has always been thus." Éomer scowled as a frustrated older brother. "I trust you to give me the truth, brother. Does she fare well?"   
  
All too aware of his son's small ears that heard so much, Faramir caught the King's eye. "She is under orders to rest at all times of the day. But her spirits are high."   
  
Éomer seemed to accept this, at least for the moment. His attention turned to his nephew who was eyeing his horse with interest. "Most children fear Seon," he told the boy, patting the black stallion's muscled neck. "But your blood runs strong with the great horsemen of Rohan, little one. I can tell."   
  
Elboron lifted his little chin. "I can ride the ponies good," he informed his uncle. "Mot'er says so."   
  
"And what does your father say?"   
  
Faramir folded his arms over his tunic. "I say that whether he turn out more as a child of Rohan than of Gondor, I shall not love him any the less."   
  
As a new father himself, Éomer nodded. He had traveled near three days from his home at Edoras, and for that entire time, he had been missing his own wife and son. "I should like to see my sister," he said, removing his heavy riding gloves. As though suddenly remembering that Éowyn was no longer under his protection, he added, "If that is agreeable with her husband."   
  
"Come then," Faramir gestured into the hall. "I promised I would bring you to…"   
  
He was cut off by the same servant he had sent up to his bedchamber who now ran down the stone steps, screaming his name. "Lord Faramir! The Lady Éowyn…her time has come!!"   
  
Faramir was off and running, forgetting everyone and everything in his haste to be at his wife's side. Éomer would have liked to do the same, but he remained behind in order to pick up his nephew. "It seems I have arrived justly."   
  
Seated in the crook of his uncle's arm, Elboron frowned, his forehead crinkling up much in the manner of his father. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice little and worried.   
  
Éomer laughed heartily, despite his own worry for his sister. It wouldn't do to frighten the child, although he could faintly recall his own fright at Elboron's age when his impossibly tiny little sister made her way into the world. "It would seem that before this day is done, you Elboron, shall be an older brother."   
  
But he was wrong.   
  
****   
  
As a woman who had nearly been felled by the Witch King of Angmar, not to mention a woman who had already birthed a child, Éowyn thought she knew pain. But what she had felt in the past was nothing compared to the pain she was in after half a day of labor with her second child. She had nearly reached her tolerance limit. Hours of wracking pain and nothing to show for it. All she wanted was for it to be over.   
  
The only comfort she took was in the fact that her husband had not left her side even for a moment. The midwife who had been called in from the surrounding village had tried to order him away, but Faramir would not budge. It had been the same during Elboron's birth. She knew that most men did not care to be in the room when their wives labored, but Faramir was not most men. He chose to stay with her, to bathe her forehead with cool cloths, and soothe her cries when the pains hit her.   
  
"My lady." The midwife, Lothelawen, broke through her thoughts. "My lady…do you feel as though you need to push the child out yet?"   
  
It pained Éowyn to shake her head. "No, not yet." She gritted her teeth. "Although I would certainly yank it out myself if I could!"   
  
Faramir kissed the back of her hand. "Try to stay calm, my love. This is hard enough on your body."   
  
"I should like to see you remain calm if it was your lot in life to bear children," she snapped back. "You know nothing of women's pains. There is no unpleasantness in being a man. Nothing curses you. You gain only pleasure from the creation of…"   
  
He stopped her with a finger to her lips, already being well acquainted with her complaints against his gender during her labors. He had heard words come from her mouth that he had never dreamed up himself when she birthed Elboron, as well as some phrases in the tongue of Rohan that he could not understand.   
  
"Trust that if I were able, I would take all of the pain of this onto myself," he told her. "It is not fair, I know. But there is naught I can do, my love."   
  
Éowyn's eyes filled with tears. "I am sorry," she sobbed. "It is only…it hurts so, Faramir. It was nothing like this with Elboron. And he came quickly, too. Is the sun not about to set?"   
  
"It is," he replied. Taking a freshly wet cloth, Faramir dabbed her perspiring brow. "But did you not tell me just this morning that every babe differs? Perhaps this child will be more like you."   
  
"And what mean you by that?"   
  
He mustered a smile meant only to cheer her. "It will be just as unable to appear anywhere on time."   
  
Had she not been hit by another contraction, he had no doubt he would have received a slap for that. As it was, Éowyn merely grabbed at the sheets, bracing herself against the pain. She had done very little screaming so far, but this time a cry ripped through her throat. It drained the blood from Faramir's face.   
  
The pain lessened after what seemed like hours and Éowyn's body relaxed. Her eyes closed and she breathed heavily. Disengaging himself from his wife, Faramir stood and pulled the midwife aside.   
  
"Tell me that this is normal with women on their second child," he ordered in a low voice.   
  
Lothelawen glanced back at the White Lady. "I cannot, my lord. Her labor continues, but does not progress. It could be that the babe has not turned."   
  
Faramir ran his hand though his hair; his dark curls were damp with sweat. "What will you do if that be the cause?"   
  
"I know not, sir." The woman shook her head. "In truth, I have never been witness to a breech birth…where the mother has survived."   
  
Her words hit Faramir with more force than an orc's arrow. He clutched at his chest as if they had reopened all of his old wounds. "She cannot…I cannot live…without her."   
  
"I will try, my lord, that I swear. But it would not offend me if you chose to send for the Healers. They will know better than I what to do in order that both mother and child might live."   
  
The Steward rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth slowly. After a long time of staring at his laboring wife, he came to a decision. "There is one man. He has healed us before. I pray that he might do the same once more."   
  
****   
  
To Be Continued 


	2. The second day

Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me, but to Tolkien, the master himself.   
  
Author's Notes: Thank you for the kind reviews thus far...I hope you keep reading and enjoying!  
  
****  
  
A Love Beyond All Fear  
  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
The great city of Minas Tirith was half a day's ride from Emyn Arnen, but Éomer made in a matter of hours. He arrived at the White City just as dawn broke on the far horizon of Mordor and was immediately led to the Citadel. The guard at the pinnacle of the city greeted him, but was reluctant to do what Rohan's king asked of him.   
  
"Elessar-king still slumbers, my lord," the man explained.   
  
"Then wake him," Éomer commanded as he dismounted his horse. "It is a matter of life and death."   
  
The guard bowed and with great reluctance allowed him into the Great Hall. He disappeared a moment later, presumably heading towards the royal residence, tucked back into the mountain out of which the city had been carved.   
  
The King did not keep him waiting. He entered the hall still tying the loose belt at his waist. "Éomer of Rohan," he welcomed him.   
  
Dropping to one knee, Éomer addressed the older man. "Your Majesty, forgive me for arriving so early without invitation."   
  
Aragorn gestured for him to stand. "There is nothing to forgive. Tell me, what is the trouble?"   
  
Éomer took a breath. "It is my sister, my lord. She ails in childbirth, and has need of Healing."   
  
"Éowyn ails?" The King's forehead pulled into a deep frown. "Has she no midwife to help her?"   
  
"She does, majesty." Quickly, the frantic older brother outlined the problem. "My sister's husband fears for his wife's life. And I for my sister, as well. We are loathe to burden our King with these troubles, but…"   
  
Aragorn cut him off. "The aiding of friends is never a burden, whatever title one might hold. I will go and do what I can, although I wonder if it will be enough. I know little to nothing of childbirthing."   
  
"Ever modest is my husband and King." The two men turned and looked, only to see the Queen, Arwen Evenstar, enter the hall with the grace of the Elves. Ethereal in her beauty, she presented a breathtaking picture next to Aragorn's rakish figure. "It was he, not the midwife, who brought Eldarion into this world." She paused for a moment. "We will both go to Lady Éowyn's aid."   
  
Éomer lowered his head. "I do thank you, my lady. I am certain my sister will appreciate another woman's help. Save for the inept midwife, she is quite surrounded by men."   
  
Arwen laughed; it sounded to Rohan's king more like music. "Do not fear for the White Lady. She carries the strength of ten men within her, and the will of a hundred. She will make it through this ordeal." She glanced at her husband. "I will make hasty preparations and we shall leave at once." With that, she glided away as silently as she had entered.   
  
Aragorn watched her go before returning his attention to the other king. "Perhaps Faramir should have sent for my lady directly." He clapped a hand on Éomer's broad shoulder. "Come. Break your fast before we go. And do what my queen says. Let your worry rest. Everything will be well."   
  
****   
  
Faramir had seen too much blood in his lifetime. A soldier learned early on to expect blood, even to become numb to it. He thought that he was, that he was immune to the sight, the coppery scent, the foreshadow of death. But that was before he noticed the crimson smears across the bedding upon which Éowyn struggled. This blood was unexpected, out of place, and filled him with fright like he had never known on any battlefield.   
  
"What is happening to my wife?" he demanded of the flustered midwife. "She is bleeding!"  
  
He spoke too loudly even though he was well across the room. Éowyn lifted her head from the pillows. "Bleeding? Faramir…"   
  
"It is not uncommon, my lord," the woman informed them both. "Yet…" She hesitated. "This much…"   
  
"Are you going to stand there shaking your head while my wife bleeds to her death?!" Faramir shouted. A man nearly gone mad with anxiety had replaced the usually mild-mannered prince.   
  
The woman in question called for him again. "Faramir…please."   
  
"I'm here," he reassured her. "All will be well."   
  
Éowyn shook her head. Her hair was limp around her face, plastered in some places to her skin by a fine sheen of perspiration. "I think not, my love. This does not feel…right." Her words caught in the back of her throat. "I am ashamed to admit it…but I am scared."   
  
"Think you that I am not?" Faramir grasped her hand. "But now is not the time to give into our fear. We have not before, and we will not now."   
  
She nodded tightly, bolstered, if only slightly, by his passionate words. "No, we shall not." He smiled as much as he could, and kissed her brow.   
  
"My lord," a servant called through the curtains. "Éomer-king has returned."   
  
Faramir licked his lips, torn between greeting the King and staying with his wife. "I will be but a moment, love," he told her. She nodded again, her eyes closed and her breath shallow as she fought an on-coming pain. He turned a narrow look onto the midwife. "The bleeding will be stopped. Do not leave her side."   
  
The sun hurt his eyes as he came out of the house; he hadn't realized how much time had passed. Just over a day it had been since Éowyn's labor started. It seemed more like twenty.   
  
Riding up the winding path to his home with his sister's brother was the man he had hoped to see, Elessar-king. Faramir let out a pent-up breath. The King's hands had healed both him and his wife; there was no one in Middle Earth whom he trusted more.   
  
Beside the King, mounted on an elegant white mare, was Queen Arwen. This surprised Faramir momentarily, but he had little time or want to wonder why she might have accompanied her husband.   
  
"She is losing blood," was the first thing he said to Aragorn when the riders reached hearing distance. No greeting, no titles, no genuflection. "I beg you…come quickly."   
  
The King did not notice the lack of formalities. He simply dismounted and turned to help his wife do the same. Together with Éomer, they followed the Prince of Ithilien into his home without delay.   
  
****   
  
Unable to be with his sister while the King, Queen and her husband aided her, for propriety's sake as well as to avoid seeing Éowyn in pain that he couldn't bear for her, Éomer sought out his nephew instead. He found him with his keeper in the nursery, and quietly dismissed the woman.   
  
"Elboron." He sat next to the boy on the marble floor.   
  
Without looking away from his toy, an intricately carved horse that Éomer's own hands had formed, Elboron asked his uncle, "Will Mot'er die?"   
  
He blinked. "No." Elboron finally looked at him, as if he needed more assurance. "I am King of Rohan. I would not allow it."   
  
There was much of his sister in the child, but right then, he was the perfect picture of his father as he contemplated this. Serious and a bit too melancholy for his young age. "I want to be a king," he said. "No one would die."   
  
Éomer decided against telling the boy that he had little chance of becoming a king. A prince, yes, but the line of Gondor's kings would be continued by Elessar's son. Still, he had never imagined himself as Rohan's king, so he supposed nothing was out of the realm of possibility.   
  
"Truthfully, nephew, life and death cannot be commanded by any king," he confessed. "But your mother will not die."   
  
"Promise?"   
  
Éomer held up his hand, but he couldn't stop it from shaking just a bit. "I swear it." Elboron seemed satisfied by this and being a child of only four years, returned his attention to his toy.   
  
He wished he could do the same, but as he sat and watched his nephew play, Éomer couldn't help but wonder if he had just taken an oath that he would not be able to keep.   
  
****   
  
"Faramir, friend." Wiping his hands on a piece of cloth, Aragorn pulled the expectant father aside. "I have both good news and bad."   
  
Glancing back and forth between his wife and his king, Faramir could only plunge his fingers through his hair and request, "The bad first."   
  
"It is true. The babe has not turned."   
  
"And the good?"   
  
"The herbs have stopped the bleeding." Aragorn set the cloth aside. "I will not lie and say that this will be simple. Breech births are dangerous for both mother and child."   
  
Faramir rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. "There must be a way, my lord."   
  
"There is. But…" The King sighed, regretfully. "It will cause Lady Éowyn much pain."   
  
"I told you once," the lady spoke up from the bed in as weak a voice as any of them had heard her speak before. "I do not fear pain." Her eyes closed for a brief moment. "Or death."   
  
The Queen blotted her brow with a cool cloth. "Speak not of dying," she said quietly. "Men, for all their muscle and valor, are easily upset by things a woman merely takes in stride. We must protect them, yes?"   
  
Éowyn wanted to smile and thank the beautiful elf, but she just couldn't do it through the pain. It was continuous now, rather than sporadic as it had been the day before, yet nothing was happening. At last check, Lothelawen had reported that her body had opened enough to allow for the birth, but there was no sign of the babe's head. "Tell the King…to do what he must. I would bear any pain to have this child."   
  
Arwen's lips touched her forehead. She stood, her silken skirts whispering against the bed covers. "The White Lady wills it that her child be born as quickly as possible," she informed the men.   
  
Her husband smiled. "Then it shall be so. We will need plenty of hot water, fresh cloths and a clean knife. Will you see to these things?" Aragorn asked Faramir. The man nodded, but it took a bit of prodding before he left the bedchamber.   
  
Once he was gone, Aragorn went to Éowyn's side and without embarrassment explained what it was that he intended to do. Although her eyes grew a bit wider at the thought of the King's hands reaching into her body to pull her child from her, she simply nodded in agreement.   
  
"I trust you, my lord." Tears blurred the image of his kind face looking down at her. "With my life and the life of my child. But I must tell you…if it should come down to a choice between the babe and me…save my husband's child."   
  
Aragorn frowned. "Lady, your husband…"   
  
"Will not understand." She touched her belly. "Can you not either, my lord?"   
  
"I can," Arwen said softly.   
  
Éowyn's chin trembled. "Perhaps only a woman can ever understand the lengths to which we would go to see our children safe." She struggled to take in a deep breath. "Promise me, my King…my friend."   
  
"I can make no such promises," he told her. "Save for one. I will do everything within my power to make this a day of joy, not of mourning."   
  
Éowyn closed her eyes, too weak to argue the matter any further. Instinctively, her hand reached for Faramir's, but he was not there. At that moment, the Prince of Ithilien sat alone in his study, staring at a cold hearth. Surrounded by the books he had used to teach his wife to read Gondor's language, wearing the shirt she had sewn together with her nimble fingers, and stained with her blood, Faramir wept as he had never wept before.   
  
****   
  
To Be Continued 


	3. The third day

Disclaimer: Characters were created way before I was born by a much better writer than I, JRR Tolkien.  
  
Author's Notes: Once again, my most sincere thanks for all the kind words. In response to a couple of reviews about Elboron's "baby talk," I will say that at four years old, children are still learning how to string complex sentences together, and slight speech impediments are certainly normal. Of course, every child varies. But this is what I've chosen for this child. I hope you still find him as adorable as I do;) Enjoy this chapter!  
  
****  
  
A Love Beyond All Fear  
  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****  
  
"Éowyn. Love, drink this."   
  
She opened her eyes just enough to see her beloved husband sitting next to her on the bed, a cup of steaming liquid in his hand. "What…" The question trailed away.   
  
"It will relax you," Faramir told her, as the Queen had explained it to him after she had mixed the herbs for the tea herself. He brushed stray strands of hair off her face, murmuring soft words of comfort. "Drink."   
  
With his help, Éowyn lifted her head and managed to swallow a few sips before her energy gave out and she dropped back against the pillows. "Faramir," she whispered. "I want you to know…I love you with all of my heart."   
  
"I know it without having to hear the words," he whispered back.   
  
"But I would have you…hear the words if this is my last chance…to say them."   
  
His eyes wet with leftover tears, Faramir set the cup aside and took her slender hand between his battle-roughened palms. Kissing the tips of her fingers, he replied firmly, "I have never commanded anything of you, my lady, but as your husband, I order this. You will not talk of dying, do you understand?"   
  
Éowyn closed her eyes, her own tears flowing steadily. "It is the first decree from a man that I desire to heed, but I must consider that I will not be able to obey it." Her eyes opened. "Before the King begins the birth, bring my brother and our son to me. Please."   
  
He hesitated, but finally lowered his head and nodded. "I shall."   
  
It only took a few minutes to summon the requested pair; Éowyn found her spirits lifting when her beloved brother entered the bedchamber with Elboron in his shielding embrace.   
  
Her baby, not a baby anymore she had to remind herself, reached for her with his small arms. Éomer set the boy down on the bed, and she was instantly grateful that the sheets had been changed and there was no blood that might frighten the boy.   
  
"Uncle let me up on his horse," he informed her, his voice muffled as he buried his face in her neck. "I want you to see me, Mot'er."   
  
Hugging his little body, Éowyn couldn't stop her tears. "I will. Just as soon as I can."   
  
Elboron lifted his head and looked at his father. "Make her better, Fat'er."   
  
Faramir drew in a ragged breath. "If it were in my power." He reached for his son and lifted him into his arms. "Come. It is time you were safe in bed."   
  
"I shall take him if you so desire," Arwen volunteered. She stood aside with Aragorn as he prepared everything he would need for the difficult birth.   
  
"Thank you, my lady." After he handed his son to the beautiful elf, he watched the two of them go. "Sleep well, my son."   
  
In the meanwhile, Éomer knelt next to his sister's bed and grasped her hand. "Do you see now what happens to young maids of Rohan when they dally with the men of Gondor?" he teased, although the words were sticky with his worry.   
  
"I was present for the birth of my own nephew, brother, and if you were unsure, your wife of Gondor will not hesitate to remind you of the pain she endured to bring forth the son of a man of Rohan." She gave him as much of a glare as she could manage.   
  
"Do you hear this?" Éomer asked his sister's husband. "Even in such a state, my sister's tongue never goes dull."   
  
Faramir smiled. "I would not have it any other way, brother."   
  
Rohan's king looked back at the White Lady. "Be ever strong," he told her in a low voice. "As I know you are."   
  
"You were the first man to occupy my heart," she told him through fresh tears. "Know that."   
  
He dipped his head and pressed a brotherly kiss to her forehead. "I expect to hear the cry of my newest kinsman soon," he told her. Standing up, he looked at Faramir for a moment before clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Take care of her."   
  
Faramir didn't have to reply. The look in his eyes was enough to ensure the protective brother that he had every intention of doing so. With that, Éomer-king took his leave.   
  
Aragorn approached the bed. The sleeves of his tunic had been rolled back high on his muscular arms and his hands were freshly scrubbed. "My lady," he said to Éowyn. "Are you ready?"   
  
She inhaled a huge breath and reached for Faramir's hand. This time it was right there, waiting for her. With their fingers entwined, she nodded firmly. "I am."   
  
****   
  
All she knew was pain. Pain coursing from the center of her body to the tips of her fingers and toes. It had become her entire world from the moment Aragorn hands reached into her womb to align the babe's arms with its body to make for a smooth delivery.   
  
"Breathe," Faramir said into her ear and tried to do as she was told. But she could feel everything as the King tugged the baby out of her, feet first. And when all but the head had appeared, she felt her husband grasp her hand even harder.   
  
"This will be the worst part," Aragorn warned her. "You must push, Éowyn, as hard as you can."   
  
"I know…I know," she breathed. But no amount of willpower could stop her from screaming as she pushed. Red-hot pain ripped her apart as she expelled the child into the King's waiting arms. The long-awaited first cry of the newborn filled the room.   
  
"Shhh, my love." Faramir's lips were warm and wet against her cheek. "You did it…you did it."   
  
"Lord Faramir, Lady Éowyn, you have a beautiful girl," Aragorn announced with much pride.   
  
Although relieved a bit, the new mother was still hurting too much to do more than begin to cry. Her husband blinked several times as he looked at the blood-streaked, wriggling infant that the King held up. She was small, so much smaller than his son on the day of his birth. Perhaps it was because this was a girl. His daughter.   
  
He wanted to hold her in his arms, to touch her as if to make sure she really was healthy, but she was still connected to his wife. Aragorn quickly passed the child to his own wife who waited with a warm blanket, and with a knife, severed the birth cord. Whispering sweet words in Elvish to calm the wailing child, Arwen began to clean her of the blood and mucus.   
  
Because she expected the afterbirth to follow, Éowyn did not think anything of the next pain that gripped her. But when it continued without stop and grew much sharper than what she remembered happening directly after Elboron's birth, she pulled at Faramir's hand.   
  
"What is it?" he asked. "What's the matter?"   
  
"I know not," she replied in a faint voice. "But there is something…wrong."   
  
Faramir looked frantically at the King. "My lord?"   
  
Sweat beaded Aragorn's forehead as it pulled into a frown. "Éowyn, describe this pain. Is it merely the afterbirth?"   
  
"I do not believe that it is…" She stopped suddenly, confronted with a new sensation. The desire to push. Her hand gripped her husband's so hard that his fingers turned white. "I believe…" For once, the White Lady had no words at her disposal. "I believe…another child comes."   
  
****   
  
Word spread through the house like a summer wildfire. The Lady Éowyn had given birth to one babe, but her labor was not over, as there was another on the way. Whispered prayers and exclamations over the rarity of identical children drifted up and down the hallways until they reached the King of Rohan. Upon hearing this news, the man raced for the bedchamber.   
  
He arrived a few minutes too late. When he entered, he saw Elessar-king holding the second child, another tiny girl. The first babe, having been cleaned up, rested in the arms of the Queen.   
  
Aragorn discreetly drew a sheet over Éowyn's lower body. "It would seem that you are an uncle three times over now," he told Éomer with a chuckle.   
  
"Twins," his sister's husband was saying to his exhausted wife. "We have two girls, my lady."   
  
Éowyn tried to smile. "I want to see them," she barely whispered.   
  
The King and Queen brought the girls over to their mother. Save for the fact that the youngest had yet to be bathed, they were perfect copies of each other. Tufts of hair too dark to be called blond crowned each of their heads; the elder's eyes were open to reveal the clouded blue of the newly born.   
  
"They are perfect." Éowyn choked on a sob. "Name them, my lord, as we…decided."   
  
Faramir reached for his daughters; Aragorn and Arwen placed one child in each of his arms. Gazing upon the first, his face shining with paternal pride and love, he declared, "Our first daughter shall be called Edoawen." He kissed the curve of her forehead.   
  
"A good name," the Queen murmured.   
  
"For a future Shieldmaiden," the King couldn't help but add.   
  
"And our second daughter, but loved none the less for it, shall be called…" Faramir paused. "My lady, we only decided the one name if it was to be a girl. As I recall, there was not another choice that we both agreed…" His words faded as he looked down at his wife. "Éowyn…"   
  
Her eyes were closed and her lashes rested heavily upon her ghostly pale cheeks. Her breath came too slowly and far too shallow when it did. Limp hands rested on her stomach, and just below them, at the apex of her body, a stain of blood red dotted the white sheet covering her.   
  
Faramir heard nothing from that moment on. His ears were deaf to Aragorn's commands that Éomer leave, that the midwife lift the sheet…and the curses that escaped the King's mouth when he saw the pool of blood rapidly soaking the bed. He was frozen, paralyzed with terror. He couldn't even feel the midwife and the Queen taking his daughters from him.   
  
All he could see was the life slipping out of his wife, his beloved Éowyn.   
  
And all he knew was that he was powerless to stop it.   
  
****   
  
To Be Continued 


	4. The fourth day

Disclaimer: Tolkien's folk-ien's, not mine.  
  
Author's Notes: Thank ever so much for all the words of encouragement. As for the meanings of the names of the girls...I'm afraid I must shrug my shoulders. I merely played around with a Middle Earth name generator until I found two that suited my purposes. Sorry I'm not more creative than that:) Enjoy this next chapter. I promise, it isn't the last.  
  
****  
  
A Love Beyond All Fear  
  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****   
  
Éomer found his sister's husband in the nursery, standing over a wooden cradle that had been built for a single child, but was now serving as resting place for two. The room was dark as the heavy drapes at the windows were closed. What should have been a chamber of light and joy was like the rest of the household, gloomy and quiet.   
  
Clearing his throat, Rohan's king entered. "Are they sleeping?" he asked.   
  
Faramir shook his head. "I know that they cannot see much in front of them, but I believe they are considering me."   
  
After a moment had passed, Éomer strode to the closest window and drew the curtains aside, flooding the room with mid-morning light. There was no reaction from the new father. "When was the last time you ate, brother?"   
  
"I do not remember or care." Faramir reached into the cradle and as Éomer approached, he could see that one of the little girls had her tiny fingers wrapped around her father's much larger digit. "They are so small," he whispered.   
  
Looking down at his identical nieces, Éomer had to agree. "They will grow," he assured him. "They are their mother's daughters."   
  
"I know nothing of girls," Faramir confessed. "I cannot remember my own mother and I had only one brother. Save for…your sister, there have been no other women in my life. But now…" He shook his head. "What do I know of ribbons and dresses? Or proper etiquette for princesses or…" His face grew pale. "Suitors and dowries and…"   
  
Éomer cut him off before he could panic any further. "Perhaps you ought to see them out of nappies before you marry them off, brother." His tone grew more serious. "Besides, my sister, although she may not always show it, knows all of this and more."   
  
"But what if she…" Faramir stopped, unwilling to say the hateful words out loud. Holding onto the cradle, he lowered his head, his teeth clenched.   
  
"She is not dead," his wife's brother growled, his temper suddenly riled. "Do not think as though she were, or we shall have words, brother, and none of them will be pleasant."   
  
Faramir's head snapped up. "She has not woken yet! I have seen men riddled with arrows who looked more alive than Éowyn does now!"   
  
"Because you grieve, I will forget you said that," he told the distraught man.   
  
Neither one spoke for a long time. Finally, Faramir licked his dry lips. "If only I knew what crime I committed to deserve this punishment." When Éomer said nothing, he continued, "Was it not trying hard enough to convince my father to let me take my brother's place at the Council of Elrond? Was it being unable to find his body and give it proper rest with the great Stewards of Gondor? Was it my failure to defend Osgil…"   
  
"If you are determined to wallow in the past, I shall take my leave," Rohan's king said, spitting out the words with much disdain. "But before I go, I will say one thing. For every wrong you think you have committed, how many rights must also be contributed to your name to give you what you do have? A healthy son, two beautiful daughters, and the love of a woman as fair and good as my sister…surely a man who is as unworthy as you claim to be must have done something spectacular to deserve these things."   
  
Faramir poured over his words for a long time after he had gone. Only a tiny whimper from the cradle brought him out of his deep thoughts. He looked down at his daughters; Edoawen, distinguishable from her twin only by the fact that she was wrapped in a cream-colored blanket rather than a green, scrunched up her little face and began to cry. This woke up her sister who did not hesitate to start wailing as well.   
  
"You both must be hungry," he thought out loud. A new despair settled over the Prince. If Éowyn never woke from her dangerous slumber, how was he ever going to feed and care for his daughters?   
  
With awkward tenderness, Faramir scooped up the elder child with one arm and reached back in for her twin. Somehow he managed to balance both babies even while they continued crying. "Edoawen…" He stopped when he realized that the second little girl still carried no name. "Éowyn," Faramir called out with a tortured moan as he closed his eyes. "Please…do not leave us."   
  
****   
  
She felt cool hands on her face, rousing her from the darkness that had been so vast, but so empty. Words spoken in a deep, soft tone filled her senses with their hypnotic melody, and she could feel herself smile as though she could understand them.   
  
"Is this the kingdom of my ancestors?" she whispered.   
  
"Nay, my lady. It is the land of the living." Her eyes fluttered open and above her, she saw the rugged face she had once thought to love. The King continued, "And I am glad to say you are still a part of it."   
  
Éowyn blinked several times to clear away the last traces of unconsciousness. "My lord?" She tried to lift her head, but was gently pushed back down.   
  
"Do not hasten to stir," Aragorn told her. "Your body is still weak from the loss of blood."   
  
Thoughts flooded her brain and panic quickly set in. "My children…Faramir…"   
  
"Relax. All is well."   
  
But she couldn't. "Faramir…I want Faramir."   
  
Aragorn looked towards the midwife. "Do as the lady bids." With a curtsy, the lady left. "Éowyn, there is something I must tell you. And there is no kind way to say it without simply doing so. The birth was very difficult on your body. In order to stop the bleeding, I administered a medicine which may affect your woman's flow from now on. There is a chance…" He stopped short.   
  
"Do not hesitate to tell me anything, my lord." She drew in a breath. "I am long used to ill news."   
  
He touched her cheek again as though she were his own sister. "I fear that you may not be able to carry a child again."   
  
His words hit her like the blade of the Witch King, only they hurt far worse. Éowyn struggled with the news, battling hot tears with the valor of the bravest warrior, but at the center of her soul, she was suddenly afraid.   
  
What would Faramir say? Would the news upset him? How many nights had they lain in bed after lovemaking, talking of children and their hopes for the future? He had confessed to her in those intimate moments that he wished for a large family with plenty of sons and daughters to fill their house. She suspected, though, that he desired more that his heart, once so unfilled, be nothing of the sort ever again. If she couldn't give him that, what was to become of their life together?   
  
Just then, her husband entered the chamber, breathing heavily from his hasty sprint. Her heart, subject only to him, beat double fast and she could not stop her arms from reaching for him. "Faramir."   
  
He crossed the room like lightning, stumbling to his knees at her side. His eyes, deeper than the sea she had only seen once, but loved instantly, met hers for a long, silent moment. With a strangled sob, he fell forward, his face pressing into the sweet curve of her neck. "Éowyn, my Éowyn," he kept repeating between the warm kisses he dropped along her throat. "I thought you had left me."   
  
"Never," she murmured, running her fingers through his tangled locks. "Never, my love." So wrapped up in each other were they, that neither one noticed the King and Queen quietly slip from the room.   
  
Faramir lifted his head reluctantly. "Am I causing you pain?"   
  
"As if you could." Éowyn smiled. "Well, I suppose that this whole matter was your fault, but I was a willing participant, so I cannot saddle you with all of the blame."   
  
The mouth she so loved to kiss curled up at the corners, before dropping suddenly. "We shall never again…I will never put you through this again."   
  
He had made the same promise immediately following Elboron's birth. Back then it had made her laugh as she planned up ways to talk him out of that pledge as soon as she could. But now, tears filled her eyes. "No, you will not." Before he could question her, Éowyn grasped his hand. "Our daughters…"   
  
"…are hungry and in need of their mother," Aragorn said as he re-entered the chamber with Edoawen. Arwen carried the other child, a cool smile on her flawless face.   
  
Éowyn's hands ached to hold her children. "I feared it was all a dream," she whispered. The royal couple placed the girls in her arms, and the White Lady let loose the tears she had been holding back. "I did not want to wake up if I was to discover that they were…that something had gone wrong. But look at them." Her eyes shone as she glanced up at Faramir. "Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?"   
  
"Yes," he replied simply. "Our daughters will thank you for their looks one day." Because she was too overcome to speak, he lowered his head and kissed her tenderly.   
  
Aragorn cleared his throat. "If you will excuse us, we fwill retire to the guest quarters and rest."   
  
Both Éowyn and Faramir called out to them at the same time. "Wait." They looked at each other, smiling, before Faramir continued. "Words cannot begin to describe our thanks, your majesties. Were it not for you…" He swallowed heavily.   
  
Éowyn finished for him. "Thank you. Both of you…so much."   
  
Aragorn shook his head. "We are friends. Ever shall it be." He took Arwen's hand. "We shall see you in the morning."   
  
When they were alone again, Faramir brushed away his wife's tears. "We have a problem, my love." She frowned. "The youngest of our children has yet to be named. It does not do for a daughter of Ithilien to go about nameless," he ribbed her.   
  
She looked down at the fussing child who lay against her left breast, the babe wrapped in green cloth, knowing through naught but a mother's instinct which child it was. "Her name…her name shall be Elioclya."   
  
"The Princesses Edoawen and Elioclya." Faramir laughed. "What a pair they will be. I foresee much trouble in our future, lady. Still, for now at least, they will most likely be sated with a full belly each."   
  
Éowyn nodded shortly, as though she could clear her thoughts of the melancholy the King's diagnosis had brought about. "Here." He took Elioclya from her and gently rocked the little girl as his wife began to feed her sister.   
  
"What did the King say of your recovery?" Faramir asked. "How long does he wish you to be confined to bed?"   
  
"He did not say." She consoled herself with the fact that it wasn't really a lie. Emotion flooded through her as Edoawen suckled at her breast. The birth pain was already a distant memory, and the joy of motherhood abounded. "Where is Elboron?"   
  
Faramir lifted his daughter to his shoulder and patted her tiny back to sooth her whimpers. "With your brother, I believe. He will want to see you soon. As will Éomer."   
  
She nodded listlessly. After a moment more, Edoawen yawned, closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep. As though they had been practicing feeding two babies at the same time for years, she switched with Faramir and offered her other breast to Elioclya.   
  
When both of the twins were quietly sleeping, Éowyn could no longer keep quiet. "Faramir, the King does not believe I can bear another babe," she blurted out. A few minutes passed in complete silence. "I am sorry."   
  
"Sorry for what?" Éowyn forced herself to meet his stare, and found disappointment there, not from the news, but disappointment in her. "Sorry for struggling to give me three wonderful children?"   
  
"No, for…" She bit her lip. "I know of your desire for a large family. And beyond these three, I cannot give that to you." Her eyes closed and she turned her head away from him. "In addition to my other faults as a noblewoman of Gondor, I now lack even the ability to be a good wife!"   
  
He searched for the right words as he sat down on the edge of the bed, Edoawen content in his arms. "If all I wanted was what the world considers to be a good wife, I would still live the life of the bachelor. Noblewomen who think of themselves thus are not for me; I have known this for many years. So after much time, I gave up hope that I would ever find a woman who was my perfect match. And more so…that if I did find her, she could ever want or love me back."   
  
Faramir's expression was wistful with remembrance. "From the moment we met, I realized that my hope was not lost. It had merely been on hold until our fates were destined to cross. I do not have to tell you all that you have done for me, my Éowyn. You know. So it wounds me to think that you consider me no better than a husband who takes on a wife merely for breeding purposes."   
  
"I do not think that," she protested. "At least…it did not sound so wrong in my head. But Faramir…"   
  
"A son and two daughters," her husband mused, pulling at his stubbled chin. "Truly, can a man ask for more than that?"   
  
Her vision clouded over with hot tears. "I know that a woman cannot, my lord."   
  
"Then let us not lament without cause any further. We shall send for our son and your brother, and begin to plan a feast in honor of our daughters, the likes of which Middle Earth has never before seen."   
  
"Sir," Éowyn said, marveling over the way in which he could turn all of her sorrows into pure happiness. "I do believe these two girls already have your devoted allegiance. Given a few years, I fear they shall be as spoiled as week-old milk."   
  
He considered this, but dismissed it with a chuckle. "Is it not a father's prerogative?"   
  
"A good father, yes." She sighed, content for the first time in since the birthing ordeal had begun. "And you are a good father." Her eyelids drooped. "Such a good father…"   
  
When Faramir glanced at her again, he found that she, like the twins, was fast asleep. Shrugging, he lay down on the other side of his wife's body with Edoawen in his protective embrace and joined them in slumber.   
  
****   
  
To Be Continued 


	5. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Characters herewithin do not belong to me, but to the mack daddy of Middle Earth, Tolkien.  
  
Author's Notes: Thank you everyone for reviewing so kindly. I get tickled pink when I hear people enjoy reading my stories;) I wanted to say something about the medicine that Aragorn used to help Éowyn in the last chapter, because there was some interest raised about it. There are herbs such as pennyroyal and blue cohosh which can induce abortions. If used in small amounts, they can also contract the uterus and stop it from bleeding. But there is a danger of sterility. So I would highly recommend you never try this at home! More author's notes to follow. For now, enjoy the story!  
  
****  
  
A Love Beyond All Fear  
  
by Kristen Elizabeth  
  
****   
  
"Mother!"   
  
In the middle of making a perfect stitch in the tiny gown she was sewing, Éowyn glanced up, hearing her oldest child call for her. "Elboron!" She dropped her sewing into her chair, gathered her skirts, and ran down the stone steps as fast as she could. She had allowed her children out of her sight, and in retrospect it seemed like a wrong decision, especially on the sloping hills upon which their house sat, where any manner of calamity might have befallen them.   
  
She found her brood at the entrance to the stables after a short search, and breathed an instant sigh of relief to see that all three were unhurt. "What is it? What is the matter?"   
  
At nearly seven years old, her son was a miniature copy of her husband with the hotheadedness of her brother. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, scowling down at his little sister. "Awen was trying to pet the horses again, Mother."   
  
The little girl looked up at Éowyn, fat tears collecting in the corners of her grey-blue eyes. "Wanna pet pretty horses," Edoawen pleaded.   
  
"You cannot!" Elboron told her. "You are just a baby. And a girl!"   
  
"Not a baby!" Her pink lower lip protruded as far as it would go.   
  
Éowyn sighed and took a quick glance at Edoawen's twin. Elioclya crouched in the grass, plucking a few stray wildflowers that grew at the corner of the stables and singing a little, incoherent song to herself. The only physical difference between the two girls was the state of their matching dresses. While Elioclya's was in the exact same condition it had been when Éowyn put it on her that morning, Edoawen's was streaked with dirt and grass stains.   
  
"Edoawen," Éowyn began. "You know that the horses can be very dangerous." She walked to the child and picked her up, surprised at the effort it took to do so. "Oh, you are growing heavy, child." She promptly set her back onto her feet.   
  
"Not a baby," her daughter repeated, smiling to reveal her short rows of pearly teeth.   
  
"But you are still a little girl," she reminded her. Elboron smirked, triumphant. "'Little' bearing far more importance in this lesson than 'girl'." The boy looked down, properly chastised. Edoawen shook her head, tangled blond curls tumbling about her face; she was too young to understand her mother's words. "Do not go into the stables without myself or your…" Éowyn clarified for the two and a half year-old before she was cut off by Elioclya's cry.   
  
"Papa!" With a chubby handful of flowers, the more lady-like of the twins stood up as Faramir approached the stables on his horse, flanked by a single guard.   
  
He stopped the animal and dismounted. "See to him," he asked the guard, handing over the reigns. Pulling off his riding gloves, Faramir held out his arms to his youngest child. She ran for him, throwing her own arms around his neck as he lifted her off the ground.   
  
"Missed Papa," Elioclya murmured into his shoulder.   
  
"And I missed my Clya," he told her. Transferring her to one side, Faramir bent down and scooped up her twin around her little waist. "And my Awen." She laughed, delighted.   
  
"And me, Father?"   
  
He was just able to keep hold of the twins and extend a hand to ruffle his son's head of dark curls. "Ever so much," Faramir assured the boy. "Your company on the journey to the White City would have been most welcome." Elboron rubbed his arm across his nose to hide the blush that spread on his face.   
  
Éowyn propped her hands up on her shapely hips. "And what of I, my lord?"   
  
He gave her look over Elioclya's head that told her everything she needed to know. Her heart missed at least one beat before Faramir replied, "My lady knows how I cannot sleep with an entire blanket all to myself. I hardly know what to do without a bedmate stealing every inch of it but the quarter she deigns to give me."   
  
His wife's eyes grew wide with indignation. "Why you…!" She stopped when Faramir began to laugh and all three of their children joined in, emulating him even if they did not understand the joke. Their sweet giggles combined with her husband's baritone chuckles doused the spark of her temper. "Fine, then. A quarter's covering is all you shall ever have. I swear it."   
  
"Ah, love." Faramir set down the twins and strode over to her, his coarse cloak billowing in the breeze. He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her close for a welcoming kiss. "Forgive this weary traveler?"   
  
Her chin tipped up haughtily. "I suppose I might find it within myself to…on one condition."   
  
"Name it and I shall obey."   
  
Éowyn smiled at him with sugary sweetness. "You be the one to tell Edoawen that she must bathe before supper."   
  
Faramir glanced at his elder daughter. At least, it looked like his elder daughter, although it was hard to tell through the layers of dirt. She was kneeling in the grass, watching her brother as he picked up a wriggling earthworm. Where Elioclya withdrew from the creature as though it was poisonous, Edoawen held out her hands for it. "How does she manage to do it?"   
  
"It is a mystery, my lord. All manners of dust and grime seem to be attracted to her."   
  
"Would it not be easier to simply never let her out of doors again?"   
  
Éowyn smothered a laugh. "It would prove simpler to keep the sun from shining, I fear."   
  
"Very well then." Faramir walked back to his children. Elboron quickly took the worm from his sister, worried that he might get into trouble for letting her play with it. But his father did not seem to notice, or if he did, did not care. "Are any of my little hobbits hungry?"   
  
"I am, Father," Elboron replied.   
  
"Me too, me too!" Edoawen echoed the sentiment. Elioclya nodded her head as properly as any well-bred noblewoman.   
  
"Then it shall be baths all around and supper to follow!" he announced.   
  
Edoawen shrieked. 'No' had been her first word, but 'bath' had quickly followed. Faramir caught her as she tried to run away and lifted her up, kicking and squirming. "Papa, no bath!!"   
  
"Do you not want to look like the lady you are?" he asked her.   
  
"No!!"   
  
Faramir rephrased the question, hoping to reason with her. "Do you wish to stay dirty?"   
  
"Yes!!"   
  
He threw a pleading look at his wife as she reached down for Elioclya's little hand. Éowyn lifted her shoulders and merely said, "Come on, Elboron. And do not even think about taking that worm inside the house." The boy dropped it with much reluctance.   
  
With reason having failed, and without any help from the mother of his children, Faramir heaved a sigh and readjusted his hold upon his daughter. He hated having to discipline, still carrying the painful brand of his own father's authority, but being a parent was not all games and laughter, as he had been forced to learn.   
  
"Edoawen," he said, lowering his voice to get the message across. "Be still. You will have your bath without protest." She pouted, but fought no more.   
  
The Prince, his White Lady, their son who was quite tall for his age, and their two identical daughters made quite a picture walking up the winding path to the imperial residence. When they reached the stone steps that led into the house, Éowyn ushered the children into the hands of their nursemaid. Even Edoawen went without complaint.   
  
She snuck a look at her husband once the children were gone. "If you think she will hold this incident against you, I assure you that she will have forgotten it by night fall."   
  
"I do not want my children to fear me."   
  
Éowyn approached him and cupped his unshaven face in her delicate palm. "They adore you, my love. But moreover, they respect you and it is not out of fear." He lowered his eyes. She continued with a softly spoken, "You are not your father."   
  
Faramir looked back up at her. "With every year that passes, I worry more that I might stumble into the same path he took."   
  
"I will not let you." Éowyn brushed a kiss across his mouth. "Not that I fear you ever would."   
  
"My Éowyn," he whispered, returning the kiss with twice the intensity. "It has been but a week since I departed, yet somehow I almost managed to forget your scent." He embraced her, breathing deeply. "Rosewater and wild honey. I could inhale you forever."   
  
She hid a smile by wrinkling up her nose. "I only wish I might say the same of you, my lord. Despite the predisposition of my birth, I care only for the scent of horses on the beasts themselves."   
  
"Is this my lady's quaint way of telling me that I ought to follow the children's example and bathe?"   
  
"It is," she assured him.   
  
"Then she shall have her way." With a final kiss, Faramir walked into the house, undoing the ties of his cape as he went.   
  
Éowyn stopped only long enough to retrieve her abandoned sewing. The cloth was infinitely soft; she rubbed the edge of it against her cheek, smiling to herself before continuing into the house to oversee final preparations on supper.   
  
****   
  
The sun had been long set in the far-off west when Faramir settled down in front of the fire with the twins on his lap and Elboron seated on his left. It was their nightly ritual, with Faramir reading the book that sat in front of them, Elboron turning the pages, and the girls making occasional comments, but invariably nodding off on their father's shoulders before the story was finished.   
  
Éowyn sat a few feet away, continuing with her sewing as she listened to her husband's voice. That night it was a collection of Shire tales, sent to their family as a gift from their Halfling friend, Merry, on the fifth anniversary of Elboron's birth. She was just putting in a final stitch when Faramir said to their son, "Close the book; your sisters are quite asleep."   
  
He did as he was asked. "Are there really such people as Hobbits, Father?"   
  
"Of course!" Faramir paused for a second. "I suppose you are too young to remember the only time our Shire friends were able to visit us. Perhaps we ought to arrange another gathering. It is good to know and appreciate the differences in all the races who share our lands."   
  
"I know of the Elves. Queen Arwen is one, is she not?"   
  
"That she is."   
  
"And Eldarion is half-Elf," Elboron continued, referring to his oft-times playmate. "He tells me so all the time."   
  
Faramir nodded, trying not to smile at this. "Elves take quite a bit of pride in being Elves. But there is much to be proud of in being a Man. Or a Hobbit. Or a Dwarf, for that matter."   
  
The boy leaned closer to his father. "I understand, Father." He yawned and closed his eyes, resting the side of his head on Faramir's arm.   
  
Éowyn broke her thread with her teeth and stood up. "I believe it is past the time children ought to be in bed."   
  
It did not take long to put the three youngsters down for the night. Elboron was the easiest, having requested just that summer that he be allowed to put himself to bed. Éowyn had nearly cried when he asked; her oldest, her first baby, seemed to be growing up too quickly for her liking.   
  
In the girls' chamber, Faramir tucked Edoawen in her bassinet while Éowyn did the same with Elioclya. They would be graduating to matching beds soon, a consideration that also prompted mother's tears. A single thought kept them at bay, the knowledge that she carried, but had yet to share.   
  
Faramir stepped back and stared at his daughters, ever disbelieving that he could have taken part in creating such perfection. "I would have them remain this age forever, if I did not desire so strongly to see them grow into the young ladies I know they will be."   
  
"Even our Awen?" she asked, mischievously.   
  
"I know well of a young woman who preferred weapons and war to dresses and dances, and she has proven her worth as a lady a million times over."   
  
"I should like to meet this paragon of feminine virtue," Éowyn replied, brushing back Elioclya's curls from her forehead.   
  
Faramir came up behind her. "I shall fetch you a looking glass, then." He snaked his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder. "The bedchambers of Minas Tirith are grandly prepared for their guests, but cold when one does not have someone with whom to share them. Have I been missed in our bed, as well?"   
  
"You have." She turned around and they kissed, slowly and deeply. "I cannot sleep with an entire blanket to myself, either."   
  
"I find that hard to believe, my lady."   
  
Éowyn shook her head. "I am just happy that you are home." She kissed him again before laying her cheek against his collar with a worried sigh that she could not hold in.   
  
"What is it, love?" His fingers stroked the back of her neck. "What troubles you?"   
  
"I have something I must tell you. And while I hope that it will gladden you as much as it does me, I fear that it might not." She pulled back in order to watch his handsome face as she broke the news. "I am with child."   
  
In the moments that followed, her husband seemed caught between utter delight and frozen dread. "But…it is not possible…is it? Éowyn? What of the King's…"   
  
"He is a man, and as subject to the making of mistakes as any one of us."   
  
Faramir stepped back and ran his hands through his hair, his usual motion when considering something important. "But the medicine he used to save your life after the twins were born…it has stopped your woman's flow…"   
  
"On occasion, my lord, but it still comes most moons of the year." She moved towards him. "But it has not for the past four. And I have felt ill of late, and I have had need to loosen the waists of my gowns. I said nothing, waiting until I knew for certain that I was not merely putting on excess weight." Éowyn paused. "Just this morning, though, I felt it move within me." She caught his eye. "I carry another child, Faramir. Another of your sons or daughters." A lengthy silence passed. "It does not please you then?"   
  
He drew in a breath. "Honestly, my lady, it makes me quite scared."   
  
She swallowed. It was not the reply she had hoped for. "Scared, my lord? But…it was our shared hope. That we might produce a small army of our own. That the halls of this house would never cease to echo with children's laughter." She looked away. "I have borne the sorrow as well as the shame of being unable to give you this. And now that I finally can, it is no longer what you want?"   
  
"Do not place words into my mouth, Éowyn," he said. Reaching out, his large hands covered her belly. There was a defined roundness there that he supposed he should have noticed earlier, but had not. "I want this child. I already feel myself loving it. What I fear is what you will endure to give it life."   
  
"It already has life," she corrected him. "All I will do is push it into the world."   
  
"And the last time you took on that strenuous task, it nearly cost you your life! I swore I would not put you in this position again, Éowyn!"   
  
"Then you ought not to have exercised your right as a husband over my body," she snapped back, tears smarting her eyes with their heat. She had to get away from the power his eyes held over her. Turning her back on him, Éowyn walked back to the two bassinets where their daughters slept, peaceful and unaware of any strife.  
  
"My lady." A wave of guilt washed over him as her slender shoulders shook. "I fear to lose you."  
  
"I fear, as well. Each time you ride away from me and every moment until your return, a small part of my heart lives in fear." She turned back around to face him. "But we swore we would not let fear rule our lives anymore, did we not?"  
  
Faramir nodded slightly. "We did."   
  
She wiped at her cheeks. "I take on this fear. I face it. Because it is worth it, my love. It is worth everything to me. This child…" Caressing her belly, Éowyn continued, "Having your children is worth any amount of fear or pain. It is even worth dying for."  
  
"Next to you, I feel like a virgin soldier on the eve of his first battle." He walked to her. "How is it that such a small frame can contain such boundless spirit?" Taking her into his arms, Faramir felt his fear began to dissipate. It was slowly replaced without mounting joy and the excitement that had come twice before when he learned he was to be father to one more child. Or two. "This makes me happy," he whispered into her hair. "Ever so happy."  
  
"Truly?" She looked up at him, her eyes wet with leftover tears.   
  
"Truly. Forgive me my momentary lack of faith?"  
  
"Oh, my love." Éowyn wrapped her arms around his torso and buried her face in his chest. "I would forgive you if you plunged a knife into my breast."   
  
They held each other for a long time. The only sound around them was the soft breathing of their beloved daughters. "With this revelation, the news from Minas Tirith is far easier to convey to you."  
  
"And what is that?"  
  
"The Queen is four moons gone with another child, as well."  
  
Éowyn smiled and tucked herself deeper into his arms. "I will write to wish her much joy…and to ask for the same in return." She twisted the cloth of his tunic around her fingers. "The hour grows late. Shall we retire for the night?"   
  
Catching the implication in her words, Faramir hesitated. "Ought we, lady? Perhaps it was my inability to restrain myself from…what did you call it…taking my rights as a husband last time that made for such a difficult birth?"  
  
"I would say it was far more likely that it is the reason I bore two babes in the place of the usual one." Éowyn drew his lips down to hers for a long kiss. "Do not make our bed a cold place for the next five months. I will even promise to give you half of our blanket."   
  
"Do I have your word on that?"  
  
"Whatever you desire." She barely managed to keep in a girlish scream when he swept her up into his arms. "And what is it that you desire, my lord?"  
  
Faramir shook his head. "Nothing. Everything that a man could desire, I already have. And it seems…" He carried her out of the nursery and started up the stone flight of stairs. "Things shall only get better, my lady."   
  
****  
  
The End  
  
Or is it? I have this insane desire to write stories for the children, but I don't know if anyone would be interested in reading them. Let me know your opinion if you have one either way;) And thanks for reading my story. I really appreciate it!  
  
Kristen Elizabeth 


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